He smiles. “Ah, I sometimes forget how exciting this is for you. It is such an old tale.”
“You mean Lyonesse is actuallytrue?”
He nods.
“My dad used to tell me of sailors hearing the bells of drowned churches, and that if you were out near Seven Stones Lighthouse on a super moon, you could see the old buildings under the sea.”
“Ah, one day I would like to meet your father. It seems that he prepared you well for your interaction with the magic world. Mayhap that is why you are so unflappable.”
I consider that and then nod. “Probably. It’s like meeting old friends. Don’t get me wrong, though. I wasn’t comfortable with the Mer.”
He cups my chin and examines my face, his golden eyes unusually serious. “They are a fickle race, but always remember they are capable of great kindness, like everyone else. They have the gift of healing and foresight. Besides, you have the favour of The Lady. That is no small thing and ensures you will walk freely.”
“So, about Lyonesse. Did you ever see it?” I look at the sea as if the city is going to rise in front of my eyes. “Did you ever visit it?” He nods, and excitement uncurls inside me. “What was it like?”
“It was an immense kingdom that lay between Land’s End and the Scilly Isles, full of riches and beautiful buildings. Then one night there was a great storm, and now all of that is lost from the surface. Underneath this sea are woods and fields, churches and houses.”
“Oh my god, I remember that. Didn’t the king escape galloping ahead of the giant waves?”
He rolls his eyes. “More’s the pity for his horse. The king was a drunk. The horse should have been knighted after that night.”
“Legend says he’ll return one day and the bells will ring again.”
“Mayhap that may be so, but he will not find the same well-stocked cellars, so it’s unlikely.”
I laugh and watch as he retreats to the end of the large rock. “Remember, Cary,” he calls. I nod and watch the sparks move faster and faster, flaming up into the night sky and dying out. I blink and there he is—my dragon.
He perches on the rock’s edge, his large head proudly tilted. He lifts a claw and scratches his snout, and I could swear he’s posing. Repressing a smile, I walk towards him and scramble on as he lowers for me.
Ready?His growly dragon voice fills me with affection, and I pat his head as I get settled.
“Yes. Let’s go.”
I will fly over Lyonesse, and you might be lucky enough to see the lights of that country. Then I will set course for Lamorna.
He lifts smoothly, and I crouch low on his body as he beats his enormous wings. The night is cool, but I’m warm, and eagerly observe the ocean below. The moon’s reflection on the waves is so big it seems like I could reach down and pluck it from the water.
There's a flash of scarlet ahead, and I see a bulky object. When we come closer, I realise it’s a big ship. “What is that?”
It is the Sevenstones Lightship. It is moored near the reef to stop ships from wrecking on the rocks. They cannot build a proper lighthouse there, as these rocks are only exposed at half tide.
I pat his head in thanks, and then I gasp out loud in delight as I suddenly see twinkling lights beneath the sea. They spread out, glowing golden in the moonlight. Sigurd swoops lower, so low that sea spray hits my face.
There is a Lyonesse village, Cary.
I look and smile in pleasure as I spot a small village beneath the waves. The windows of the cottages twinkle in the dark water. Then we’re moving on, and the lights disappear. I settle in for the ride.
Are you comfortable?Sigurd asks. I pet his head and he makes a strange noise—like a deep rumble or a purr.
“I’m absolutely fine.”
We fly through the moonlit night, and even if I lived to be a hundred, I will never forget the beauty of this night. The sound of his wings. The feel of his strong, sturdy body. The sleek feel of his scales under my fingers. And the slumbering coastline of Cornwall.
We fly over a pub, its windows lit with Christmas lights and hear the sweetness of Aled Jones singing about walking in the air. It sounds surreal to me as I ride a dragon on this quiet, cold night. And then we’re moving on, passing darkened houses and winding roads.
Finally, Sigurd moves inland, slowly descending over the treetops. I peer ahead, my eyes stinging from the cold wind, and spy a large, open space ahead of us. It’s lit by flaming torches that gutter in the wind, and on the breeze, I hear the sound of a fiddle.
Sigurd lands neatly in a field. Unfortunately, my dismount is more of an ungainly sprawl than a controlled movement.
